3039

I awoke with a start. Well in all actuality, came to, after what would've been to a normal man, a deadly night of consuming alcohol and drugs. The pain in my chest and abdomen was overwhelming, and nearly brought tears to my eyes. I looked over with befogged eyes to the table next to the chair that had been my stopping point in the previous night's partying, attempting to locate a bottle that may have a swallow left in it. I had to have a drink in order to get the pain in my stomach to a bearable level. My hand shook as I reached out to a nearly empty vodka bottle, and as I grasped it and began to bring it to my lips, I clumsily knocked it onto the table, spilling my promise of remedy. As the bottle tipped and clunked onto the wood, another painful shot went through my abdomen. Shit, I had to find another bottle! I stood slowly, grabbing my aching belly with one hand, while using the other to steady myself on the arm of the chair.

I made my way to the bedroom, half-bent over like a Neanderthal, taking small slow steps. Stepping through the doorway, I saw my lover sprawled out on the bed, with a rig sticking out of his arm. A small trail of dried blood went from his arm to the sheet. I came closer to him, and saw that he was breathing. Immediately my thoughts turned once again to locating a bottle. Before I got the chance to scan the room thoroughly, another lightning bolt of pain shot through me, and I grabbed my middle and headed for the toilet. It was pretty common in these days of heavy drinking to be cursed with diarrhea (sometimes explosive) upon waking. I tugged my boxers down and sat hurriedly on the pot. The pain I was experiencing this particular time was almost convincing enough to think about slowing down on the booze.

My stomach cramped again, and shit was violently expelled out my ass. This was incomparable to my usual mornings. I couldn't remember it ever hurting so bad! I continued to shit liquid and realized I was becoming quite nauseous. My mouth began salivating and I recognized that as a sign I'd be immediately sick. I pulled the trash bucket over between my feet and readied myself to vomit. This feeling was reminding me of the times I'd been hung over and blamed my malady on a Chinese restaurant. This was like food poisoning. Shit was still spewing out of my butt, and as I began to throw up, I became very alarmed. At first, I threw up quite a lot of bright-red blood. This made me fearful. It couldn't be good. I continued to wretch and shit, and I noticed that it was becoming more and more painful the more I shit. Usually that would relieve some of my discomfort. Not today. I began to feel some serious pulling in my abdomen, but was too busy puking up more blood to lift my leg and see what was coming out of my ass.

Suddenly I felt I was choking on my vomit, as if I was puking up an apple I'd swallowed whole. I gagged and then violently passed a large purple object up my throat and out of my mouth. If I could've spoken at that point, I surely would've said "What the fuck!" I couldn't fathom how the hell that thing made its way up my throat, nor could I imagine what it was. But I had little time to contemplate it before the next heave came, and this time I thought I'd choke for sure. After a couple of breathless convulses, I produced a fleshy balloon-like thing. Deflated balloon-like thing. Immediately followed by another. My pain was immense; all the while shit still seemingly gushing out my rectum. I felt as though my guts were being ripped out. After the second deflated balloon, I was relieved of the retching for a moment, and I was able to raise one of my cheeks off the toilet seat and see what the hell was going on down there.

The whole bowl was filled with bloody pieces, and I noted a long tube being discharged from my ass. There was already a good amount of said tube in the toilet, and suddenly it dawned on me. But before I got any further into this impossible thought, I began to heave again. This time feeling a ripping sensation in my midsection, followed by another impossibly large object pushing its way up my throat. Again I was unable to breathe, and I did my best to puke it out. I successfully expelled what I was beginning to believe an organ. As I sat on the commode in a bleary state of shock, my ass still on fire, I realized that the vomiting convulsions had subsided.

After a moment of holding my head in my hands, letting the last of whatever it was slide out my sore ass, I looked around the bathroom. It was completely covered in my blood, and my innards. It looked as though someone had been violently disemboweled. I supposed they had in reality. I looked to the mess in front of me on and in and around the small trash bucket, and started to identify the rubbery sac as being a stomach, the pair of deflated balloons things being lungs, and the purple apple thing as a heart. My heart. How could this be?

What kind of bizarre drug/alcohol induced trip was I on? I very much felt my body, the outer part anyhow, still sitting on the toilet. I touched my leg with a quivering fingertip, and found, yes, I still felt my body. As I took in this disgustingly fantastic scenario, I felt my urge to shit fade. Finally my body was still. I'm sure if I would've had lungs in my chest, I'd have been hyperventilating. But, seeing as how I no longer did, and that I was staring at them on the floor at my feet, I sat completely still. I began to make my legs work to lift me upright, and grasped the sink as I stood slowly. As I rose I looked in the toilet, and recognized my intestines, large and small, a liver, and several other organs a person without a medical background would have a hard time identifying. I shook my head, trying to rattle my brain back to reality. It didn't work.

I was still standing in the bathroom, staring at my guts covering the floor and walls. Out of the corner of my already disbelieving eye, I thought I saw a movement. I turned my head towards the shower stall, and watched as something began to "grow" up and out of the drain. I stood motionless, completely terrified. A green slimy form oozed out of the drain, and began to take shape right before me. Eyes and a flat head and a wide line of a mouth materialized. It looked like a frog. Only it was quickly becoming the size of a large dog. I involuntarily opened my mouth and whispered," What the fuck planet are you from..."

Well, apparently I hadn't puked up my larynx or vocal chords, I actually heard myself speak. The frog-thing moved away from the drain as it pulled its toes from its back leg free from it. Then it stared at the drain, and I watched as the process of what I'd just witnessed repeat itself. The drain gave birth again, to a second frog-thing. When it was completely out, the two sat side by side in the small shower stall for a moment, and then advanced. Their long snaky tongues slithered out of their froggy lips, and they began licking up the blood and entrails from the floor, wall, etc.

This was enough motivation for me. I moved more quickly that seemed possible, jetting out through the door and slamming it behind me, and, like you might see a cartoon character do, leaned all my weight against the outside of the door, as I panted and panicked. Well, I suppose I wasn't truly panting, since I no longer possessed the necessary organs in which to pant, but it seemed I went through the outer physical motions of panting. I'm sure if I'd had been a cartoon at this particular time, one with inner organs, that you would've seen the outline of my huge heart-shaped heart pounding out a foot in front of my chest. I began to think of something heavy to push in front of the door, to keep the mammoth amphibians in there. I quietly knelt down by the door and cautiously peeked in through the old-time keyhole. The giant frogs seemed quite content, cleaning up my bathroom mess hungrily, and very thoroughly, I might add. I might add that, but I will refrain. They cleaned the bathroom quickly; lapping with long froggy tongues, winding their tongues around large pieces of what was once me and pulling them into their huge mouths. I was jolted by a noise behind me. It was my strung-out lover, doing his best to make his way to the bathroom without stumbling. He was naked except for a t-shirt. I watched him shuffle down the hallway, with both hands sliding down the wall steadying him. He looked at me, also nude except for my t-shirt, which was red and dripping with my blood, as I crouched on the floor by the bathroom door.

He nearly whispered these words, and, still being quite high, he sounded a little cartoon-y himself. The rig from the night before still hung from his arm.

"Whaaat's in theree? Is someoonee in theree", he whispered even softer.

I reached out to him as he crouched down beside me, and pulled the needle out of his vein.

"Ouuch dude, oh thankkks, I mustaa forggot thaat."

"You won't believe this freaky shit."

I moved to one side and motioned for him to look through the keyhole. He got his eye positioned at it, and sat there starting for a moment.

"What is it? I donn't see anythiing.." he whispered.

"You can't be that wasted, dude. You don't see them?"

"See whoo?"

I pushed him out of the way and put my own eye back to the hole. There was nothing there, except all the things that inhabited the bathroom before my experience had begun. No frogs. No blood. No entrails. Could I have imagined all this? I looked down to my shirt, and sure enough, it was still blood-soaked. I turned around and sat with my back to the door, gripping my head in my hands, not understanding the train of events that had unfolded, and apparently, folded back up again. The gore-eating frogs must've gone back down the drain, I thought.

"Maan, I really neeed ta gett inn therrre, I neeeedta get sickk."

Part of me, probably my brain, for I was pretty sure that hadn't come out of me along with everything else, was afraid to let him go in there.

"Commme on maan, I'm gonnna get siiick..", and with that he began to vomit on the floor in front of where I sat. After a moment, I was quite glad to see nothing abnormal with his puking. At least it didn't seem contagious. He wretched for a few minutes, and then composed himself as well as any good junkie can.

I looked at the puddle of barf and listened to his words of "puke my guts up". He had no fucking idea. My mind began to scan over the bizarre scene in the bathroom, my guts literally coming out my mouth and ass, huge frogs appearing and eating my guts...me still being obviously alive. I hadta be, he was sitting here talking to me. I felt woozy. This was all way beyond my comprehension. Again my mind turned to finding another drink. This time just to evaluate things in a calmer manner.

I knew I couldn't begin to answer him until I found a drink. I put my hands on his shoulders and used him as a means of steadying myself as I finally attempted rising to my feet. As I pushed up, I seemed to notice that I felt incredibly lighter than I had getting up from my chair when this bizarre day began. As I stood, he stood with me. He stepped over the puddle of vomit and walked slowly to the kitchen with me. I stared at my feet as we walked, taking very small weak steps. I really was lighter. Well no shit, I thought. I was probably 50 pounds lighter than I had been, considering the blood loss as well as all my other shit. We got to the kitchen and there I saw my savior, a nearly full fifth. I stepped to the counter on which it sat, and leaned up against it as I uncapped the bottle. I didn't take any time to think about this action possibly bringing about more adverse effects, I just knew I needed this. I tipped the bottle up and took in a mouthful, and then swallowed, already feeling mental relief. The second I swallowed, I became a bit concerned about where that swallow was en route to. Before I actually had time to ponder this, I felt wetness on my bare inner thighs and heard a soft splattering sound.

"That's what I'm tellin' you, man. The shit went straight through me."

I started to feel panicked, again. I wanted to relate the story of this bizarre morning to him, but without a drink I felt like I couldn't. How the fuck was I supposed to be able to absorb any alcohol into my system? I was truly afraid, just like I had been with the appearance of the bathroom frogs, but more so. A normal person would've probably been more concerned over their lack of organs, and the fact that they were still apparently alive. But not me. All I could be concerned with at this point was the fact I couldn't get drunk.

I could tell he was coming around a bit more as his speech seemed a little better. He nodded, and started back down the hallway towards the bedroom, carefully stepping over the vomit. I sank down into a rickety metal chair at the kitchen table, which was also metal and rickety. The ripped vinyl of the seat was cold and scratchy on my bare ass. I held the bottle in my hand and attempted once more to take a swig from it before he got back into the room. I tipped it up and took a swallow. I looked down, and almost instantly saw it trickle out of my dickhole, and felt it run out of my ass as well. I was beginning to realize how hollow I actually was. My boy returned, spoon, rig, and dope in hand, and sat next to me at the table. He knew that I very rarely fixed, this was an uncommon occurrence. I lay my trembling arm out on the table, and felt tears welling up in my eyes. Suddenly I began to feel as though I were on the verge of a breakdown. My whole body began to shake and I let go of the river of tears; I could hold back no more. He put the dope down and grabbed me hard, hugging me tightly to him.

"Shhh...Its okk, its okk...I'm gonna make yoou feel better, it'll all be betterr in just a minute...shhhh..."

He cradled my head in his hands and kissed me, trying his best to comfort me. I don't know if he was just too out of it to inquire about what was going on, or if he knew that I was obviously not in any shape to discuss it. Either way, I was relieved that he wasn't trying to get any particulars at this point. He held me for a few more moments, and then pushed my back against the back of the squeaking chair and took the spoon and dope out. I paid little attention to him doing the cook-up; I had seen that more times than I could add up. But my head did turn when I saw him fill the syringe and flick it with a finger, getting the air bubble out of it. I lay my arm in front of him, and he began smacking the inside of my forearm, trying to get a blue vein to rise up. Nothing. He smacked harder. Nada. He reached down and unplugged an extension cord from the outlet near us, and wrapped it around my arm. Smack, smack, smack. Nope. The realization of no heart=no blood flow=flat veins was creeping into my head

.

"Dude, you're blown out. Where the fuckk are yourr veins? You been fixin' in secret, or what?"

He knew I hadn't. I grabbed the needle from him and said, "Fuck it!" I rammed it randomly into the fleshy part of my arm and pushed the plunger down. I waited. My mind raced as I tried to patiently wait for the warm melty numbness to come. I thought I pretty much still had a nervous system, in fact I knew I had, I'd never been more nervous than I was. Well, except maybe the time I got pulled over by a K-9 unit with an ounce of crack in my underwear. That was pretty nerve-racking. I waited. I thought I felt a tiny warm buzzing beginning to spread out into my body. But it was really nothing. I wasn't getting off at all. My lover sat and stared, and said, "Man, you know you won't get off if you don't hit a vein. I can't believe you wasted that shit!" Then he paused and said, "Oh, man, I'm sorry...I know you just got in a hurry. It's ok..."

"No the fuck it's not!" I yelled.

"You have no idea how not ok it is. Things are really fucked up and weird and I can't get off! Fuck!! What am I gonna do?"

I really began to freak out. The reality was setting in. He grabbed me again and held me hard by my shoulders.

"What the fuck is going on? Explain to me what is going on please."

I took him by the shoulders as well, and pushed him down into the chair. I felt like I was blowing a fuse as I tried to find effective and believable words to describe my morning. I mean, how does one tell a story of what I had experienced and be believed. I would not have believed me. I could hardly believe my now very unreal memory of what I thought had happened. Suddenly I was very unsure of myself. But then my eyes averted to the small pool of vodka on the floor. I took a deep, purposeless breath and began. My mouth began to form words telling of the morning. Before I had gotten very far at all, a look came over his face, a look of complete disbelief, and he stood quickly and turned towards the counter to grab his lighter, to make a fix.

"No, you need to listen to me", I said with all the authority I could muster, "Don't get fucked up right now. I need you to understand what I'm telling you. This is difficult enough without the interference of drugs. Just listen to me first." My words turned from authoritative to pleading. The look he was giving me was one I was unfamiliar with, coming from him anyway. I'd seen it before from people full of disgust. From people who knew they were being conned. I had to convince him this wasn't the case. He still did not speak, just stared with that look.

"Just sit down and listen to me. This is what happened, ok? I have no fucking reason to make up some stupid fucked-up sci-fi story and try to get you to believe me, ok? I am not so far gone that I imagined this, ok? This is what happened, and you need to believe me."

He sat, he listened, he was even able to wipe that look from his usually-beautiful face. I got ahead of myself, stumbled over my words, and had much difficulty in not being overly confused myself. But finally I finished my story, and once again, took another useless deep breath. I sat, looking at him as he attempted to put it all together, and felt very fearful that he'd just throw up his arms, saying, "Whatever, you fuckin' nut, I'm outta here"..But he didn't.

He then took a deep breath as well, and said, "Ok, you've told me. Now I need to get high."

I didn't stop him. I watched as he proceeded to cook it up and load the rig, and inject the beautiful poison into his arm. At once a look of bliss came over his face, and his hand that had done the work dropped to his side, once again, without removing the syringe. I reached over and gently plucked it from his arm, and he tilted his head and said, with sleepy eyes, "Thanks, baabe..."

After the initial rush of the drug to his brain, he sat up a bit and I watched as he seemed to try to process my story. I stood, and took his hand, and said "C'mon, let's lay down", and led him back through the hallway to our bed.

We lay together, and he began to stroke my cheek and head with his fingertips, being aware of my obvious fear. But, strange as it may seem, my main concern was still the fact that I was stone-cold sober, and had no clue how I could get high. I told him this. As he responded to my fear, it seemed my story of space frogs eating my guts wasn't quite so unbelievable any more. He tried to comfort my fear and transpose his intoxication to me. I wished it were working. The insanity I felt from the thought of living in reality was more difficult to bear that my lack of organs. I was mad and scared. He held me as I held back tears and watched a large cockroach climb up the wall beside the bed. His arms were warm and strong and comforting, his apparent acceptance of my story was comforting. He held me in his dope-veined arms and rocked gently from side to side. I then noticed his appendage beginning to stiffen. Feeling his dick get hard as it rubbed against my belly almost made me forget, just for a moment. The thought of sex seemed to help my hopeless state. I reached down and took his steely love-gun in my hand and pulled on it ambitiously. I quickly invoked a reaction from him, and he began to move atop me and kiss me feverishly. Pretty good for being strung-out. He was trying hard, and it seemed to be working. My mind had drifted far from the bottle for those minutes.